Before the first Mother’s Day I actually spent as a mom, I envisioned what my big day
would be like. I fell in love with the idea of breakfast in bed and my little ones gathering around me as I opened some handmade gifts. I wouldn’t be allowed to lift a finger as my family prepared for the trip to grandma’s house.
After a fantastic and relaxing visit, we’d return home, where I’d relax in a bubble bath while the Brocker would get our children ready for bed. I’d finish my soak in time to kiss them goodnight, and then we’d spend the rest of the evening, watching chick flicks and cuddling on the couch.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!
Enter: reality.
Not a single element of my fantasy Mother’s Day has actually come to pass. I’m always the first to get up. I pack the bags for the day, and when the boys finally wake, Brock gets them dressed in the outfits I’ve set out.
We stop at the grocery store to pick up our contribution to the meal at my mom’s house and then we spend the afternoon chasing the kids together.
Bellies full of good eats, we go home and throw the boys in a bubble bath together. Splish. Splash. Splishity splash. Once we’re thoroughly soaked, we get the kids ready for bed.
Comfy and cozy, we all sit on the couch and watch something with superheroes in it until the boys, exhausted from a long, fun day, drift off to dreamland one by one.
We put them in their beds and then, exhausted from a long, fun day, we drift off to dreamland together.
This plays out the same way, every Mother’s Day, like there’s a glitch in the mommy matrix or something. And, truth be told, with the exception to the trip to grandma’s, it’s pretty much how every day in the Cooper house goes.
While these memories aren’t exactly the picture perfect Mother’s Day events that I’d fantasized about years ago, I can’t say that I’m disappointed.
I’m a mom. That is the real dream. That is the fantasy come true.
The fact that I am honored every year as the mother of these crazy kids is a privilege in itself. I waited, dreamed and prayed for the opportunity to have someone say, “I love you, mommy,” to me. And now, by the grace of God, I have three healthy, funny, energetic little men telling me they love me several times a day. How blessed am I?
Every day is my most special Mother’s Day. The actual holiday is just the cherry on top.

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Disclaimer: I have been compensated for this post. All thoughts and opinions are mine.
Photo: flickr.com/photos/clevercupcakes/4592972238/